d by your gewgaws from Versailles."

"Then go because your honour calls!"

"Who are you to prate about honour? What does a priest know about
honour? Keep to your pater-nosters and aves!" he cried, with an
insulting laugh.

"You clown!" cried the priest, trembling with indignation. "My
ancestors carried their own banner to the Sepulchre of Our Lord,
when yours were hewers of wood and drawers of water! But, forgive
me," he added, almost in the same breath, "this is beside the
question. M. de Sarennes, you are a soldier, and as such your
honour is dear to you; there are hundreds of men, aye, and there
are women too, whose honour and safety in a few weeks, perhaps
sooner, will depend on your succour. You know your help is absolutely
necessary in the event of the place being invested. M. de Montcalm
expects you to be at your post; M. de Vaudreuil has himself given
you his orders; your Indians will follow no other than yourself,
and are only waiting for you to lead them. No one knows better
than yourself with what suspicion they will look on your
disappearance. Your name will be on every lip in Louisbourg, and
every eye will hourly watch for your coming. You carry the safety
of the fortress, perhaps of the country, in your keeping."

"What you say is no doubt true, mon pere. But it rests with you
whether I go or not," he returned, in a quiet voice, without a
trace of the passion which had swayed him a moment since.

"How? In what way can it rest with me? I have given you my message,
your orders."

"Yes, mon pere, but I require more; I wish for your blessing."

"You shall have that, my son, my blessing and my constant prayers."

"That is well, mon pere, but I require more; I would have your
blessing for another also."

"For whom?"

"For this lady, mon pere. If you wish me to leave for Louisbourg,
you will marry me first," he said, with a laugh.

"Madame de St. Just."

"No, not 'Madame de St. Just!' But she will then have the right to
style herself 'Madame de Sarennes.' Don't attempt any heroics!" he
went on, raising his voice angrily, while I shrank close to the
priest in terror. "I know all about this pretended Madame de St.
Just, perhaps even better than do you. If I choose to give her an
honourable name, it is my own affair. Don't prate to me about
honour! I am here because it does not weigh with me for the moment.
Don't talk to me of the safety of the country; it is in your hands.
I tell you plainly I will